


The Fool

by tome



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Crush, F/M, Fluff, Insecurity, Pre-Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Unnamed Warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15511065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tome/pseuds/tome
Summary: Alistair does not take his crush on his Warden friend well.





	The Fool

It hit Alistair in an instant like a kick to his chest, one that teetered him off a cliff overlooking an abyss. He was free falling, with nothing to grab onto and no bottom in sight as the wind whistled in his ears.

The past few weeks, the two Wardens had started something of a ritual when either of them had first watch--pulling their bed roll from their tent, laying down next to the other’s place at the fire, and talking about _anything_ but the Blight. Especially total nonsense.

_“Do you think there’s life on those other planets?”_

_“Why_ can't _The Maker be a mabari? Maybe He imprinted on Andraste--no! No, listen--list--_ listen! _‘Dog’ is ‘God’ spelled backwards! You can't just sit there all smug and tell me that's a coincidence!”_

_“Have you ever actually thought about cheese, Alistair? Like, who’s the first sick bastard that saw rotten, disgusting milk and said 'Yeah, this should go in my mouth’?”_

Today must have been an exhausting day for her, however, because she had fallen asleep within an hour. A bad thing for her to do, leaving Alistair to his thoughts in the quietness of night like that.

This was not the first time in their ritual where one of them fell asleep early. It should have been easy this time, like all the other times; just wake her up, pretend to be horribly offended she had found him that boring or something, and help her to her tent.

But tonight, for some reason, Alistair had hesitated and just...looked at her. Really looked at her.

Her face seemed so serene when she was asleep, carefree and relaxed like she didn't have the literal entire world on her shoulders, like she didn't have blighted blood, like she didn't have nightmares that could have her screaming bloody murder.

His gaze had drifted to her chest--no, not because of _that-- **those,**_ but because of how she breathed. It rose and fell with a rhythm that captivated him, filled him with a gentle warmth that put him at ease.

Alistair looked at her, and she was beautiful. She was beautiful, rare, and wonderful, and he was madly in love with her.

_Oh._

His head fell into his hands and he let out a strangled, helpless groan as his stomach twisted into painful knots.

He knew nothing of love, nothing of how to deal with the newfound ache in his chest at the mere thought of her. How could he want to _sing_ about how much he loved her, but want to curl up into a ball and hide at the same time? Or die? That could work, too, so long as he could get over whatever this was.

He closed his eyes and took in several deep breaths, trying to still his thrumming heart.

If he could just calm down, relax, maybe he could ignore the butterflies and warmth that filled him when he thought about her smile. Channeling his inner Sten and Morrigan, Alistair steeled his face that he still had buried into his hands.

After a few moments of fidgeting in silence, Alistair snuck a glance at her between his fingers and poorly suppressed the whine that formed in his throat.

Her hand had moved where it draped above her heart and he wrestled with a sudden, stupid overwhelming urge to reach for it. She was so fragile, so open, he wanted...

Suddenly very dizzy and very, _very_ warm, he closed his fingers over his eyes again. _Nope. Still in love. Just checking._

Maker’s breath, _he was in love with her._ Him! In love!

He supposed it was foolish of him to ever think he could have an uncomplicated, normal, happy friendship. Perhaps all bastards are born with some part of them that was broken, and whatever was messed up inside him always made him alone. Or, maybe he was fine and the cruelty of the universe was all because The Maker simply disliked how he wore his hair.

She was...completely, totally, wonderfully the best friend he had ever had. The second person he had ever met to genuinely care about what he had to say and, dare he think or hope it, _him._

In the middle of the sodding Blight, she had found an old, beat-up amulet he brought up _months_ ago because it was something important to him. “Of course I remembered, Alistair. You’re special to me,” she had said. Who could just...say something like that? It was hard to believe someone so kind and wonderful could kill an entire army of darkspawn.

_Oh. I think I loved her then, too._

He buried his face even deeper into his hands, his cheeks burning his palms.

She was one of the only good things to ever happen to him, and here he was: about to muck everything up and ruin it in typical Alistair fashion. Someone finally treated him like a person, and now he went and made it awkward and stupid. After all, there was no way she would feel the same. She was nice to everyone in their little gang--even _Morrigan!_ He could not possibly be any different.

But…

_“You’re special to me.”_

Alistair’s heart _soared._ He was only barely ashamed to admit how often her words had replayed in his mind. How he had carefully imprinted to his memories the way her lips curled when she smiled, the way her laugh sounded when he made a good joke. How warm her skin felt in the times he’d accidentally brushed against her with his own.

A thought dawned on him, filling his features with unadulterated horror: He had been doing that even before she gave him the amulet.

_Andraste’s flaming sword, when did I fall in love with her, exactly?_

Immediately, he thought to the rose in Lothering.

No, not quite. Sure, he thought of her in specific as he picked it, but that hadn’t been a fall. It had just been a slip then, something he could quickly pull himself back up and move on from like nothing had happened. But, it was that falter in his step that left him one foot over the edge of the cliff he now found himself pushed off of.

The more he thought, the more he started to believe there wasn’t a specific line to draw between “just a friend” and “so in love it gnawed at his soul.” It just sort of...happened. Like it was inevitable, the logical direction of his feelings for her, lurking below the surface, waiting for him to realize it before bursting to the forefront of his brain. There was something terrible about that. After all, was it really, truly so much to ask for a friendship that wasn't doomed from the start?

Alistair sat up straighter and brought his hands down to the log he sat on, supporting his upright torso. He didn’t want to think about this anymore, didn’t want to imagine what her hands would feel like against his (probably wonderful), didn’t want to heed the tingle in his lips that begged to meet hers. He could _not_ afford to freak her out, not with a Blight over their heads, not with him _needing_ her as badly as he did, not with a friendship so important to him on the line.

A nighttime breeze nipped at his nose. His whole face was burning, but the cool air still sent a shudder through him.

_Maker’s breath, she doesn’t have a sodding blanket._

His head lolled back, turning his face towards the sky as he silently pleaded for The Maker to just leave him alone already. He _had_ to wake her. It was getting too cold for her to sleep outside.

But how did someone just...talk to the person they’re in love with? Alistair could not fathom it. The very idea made his brain seize up and his heart rush in his ears. She had been _so easy_ to talk to not even a few minutes ago, and now he was so far gone he forgot how to properly move his tongue.

Suddenly, she made a noise next to him. Before he could stop himself, Alistair turned his gaze back to her. She had curled into herself, her front towards him, and her body shook with a deep shiver. He reached for her instinctively to wake her up by the shoulder, but froze a hair’s breadth before her skin.

In that moment, he felt that surely no human brain could survive the amount of heat that went to his face.

It wasn't like he hadn't woke her up like that before, but it had been different then; chaste, a touch between friends. But he knew he was in love with her now, and he had no idea...how to do that. His hands would linger or, Maker forbid, his fingers stroke her.

If he was going to do anything with these stupid feelings, it would not be to paw at her like some prick. No. He loved her--Andraste preserve him, he was a mess--he couldn't just touch her anymore. She deserved...so, so much more than that. So much more than him.

Alistair dropped his hand back to his side and let out another groan. Just mount him to a pyre and get it over with already.

But he had to wake her, get her to somewhere at least marginally warmer.

“Hey,” he eventually settled on. “Wakey, wakey.” She stirred a little and gave a wakeful grunt.

_There. A normal, civilized interaction. Nicely done, Alis--_

Void take him, she opened her eyes and _smiled_ at him; an exhausted smile, but it still had the same effect on him as any other. The air in his lungs rushed out with a _woosh_ at the sight, and he could not stop tracing the upturned curve with his eyes. Alistair resisted the instinct to gasp.

He had to look away. The fire was much, much prettier anyway, definitely. He should look at that--after all, fire was the first sign of the ingenuity of man. Yup, _veeery_ interesting and all that. Look at how it glows. Fascinating.

“Alistair?” she whispered, and he was thankful he was already sat down because of the weakness that struck his knees. Her voice was husky with sleep, and Alistair could not help but imagine hearing that first thing in the morning, with her in his--

Maker’s balls, he was an absolute goner.

He swallowed and cleared his dried-up throat. “Hard to be ever vigilant when I've got a careless woman chattering her teeth over the sounds I should be listening for,” he managed with a weak chuckle, still not facing her.

She scoffed at that, and Alistair heard her yawn and rub her face. “’M sorry,” she mumbled groggily after a moment.

“Not complaining! An ambush would make this night a lot more exciting, that’s for sure. All the running would keep my arse from freezing off, too.”

She did not respond at first, and it was a silence that made him frown slightly. Instead, the only noise that came from her was the sound of her bedroll shuffling. Before he could ask what was wrong, she said softly, “No, it’s just...I quite enjoy your company.”

Alistair whipped his head to face her, no doubt with some stupid expression on his face that betrayed the thoughts he was struggling to hide. But it was not as if she could see that--she was sitting up, staring pointedly at the hands that rested in the middle of her crossed legs.

Was she…?

No, no way. There was absolutely no way she was blushing. She could look an emissary in the eye without flinching, so why would saying something nice to a friend do anything?

 _But was she?_ Alistair definitely was.

He leaned in closer, but the light of the fire was honestly too poor for him to tell. Probably just projecting to grasp at straws. But...why else would she be so bashful? A tentative hope fluttered in his chest, and _Maker_ did he feel like quite the fool for it.

Her eyes flickered up at him nervously before quickly returning back to her twiddling fingers.

He took in a breath.

“You know,” he said with a broad grin that coaxed her to look back up at him, “I was actually just thinking the same thing. About you, of course.”

She beamed at him, and it felt like falling in love with her all over again. This time, however, the way his insides curled up into knots was _wonderful,_ not painful.

Clearing his throat again, a thought occurred to him. “You’re-you're not sorry about _that,_ are you?” Alistair asked, praying his nervousness was not as obvious as he thought it was.

The speed at which her face changed from delight to horror might have been hilarious to him if he was not so vulnerable.

“N-no, of course not!” she spluttered. “I’m just not really showing it by falling asleep, am I?”

She was so tired she fell asleep in the middle of a conversation, and she was still concerned about _him?_   Warmth filled his body and tingled under his skin, bringing a smile to his face. “You think you could hurt my big, macho man feelings? Nonsense,” he said softly.

 _Wow, this is love, huh?_ His body felt like it could float away from all the giddiness that bubbled up inside him. The terror from the revelation began to tide itself over, because of course he loved her. It was as plain as day and as easy as breathing. Of all the worst-that-could-happens, falling for her was the best of them.

The wind picked up again, knocking him out of his reverie and making the two Wardens to shudder against the chill. A sudden nervousness budded inside him at the new silence and Alistair tried to chuckle it away. “Anyway, I woke you so you could go to your tent and rest proper. Didn’t think you’d want us chiseling you off the ground in the morning.”

She eyed her tent, her lips pursed. “Well,” she said so softly that Alistair could barely hear her over the sound of the campfire, “I’m awake now.”

 _Shit._ “Sorry!” He sighed and slapped his forehead with both of his hands. “I just...ah, I was worried, and now you probably won’t get back to sleep--”

“Alistair,” she cut in with a smile. “That’s not…” She shook her head and hummed in thought. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uh...alright?” He watched her skip to her tent-- _did her hips always move like that? Wow._ His gulp sounded almost comical and he jerked his flushed head away from her entirely.

Not but a moment later, Alistair felt the familiar tickle of bear fur and wool against his cheeks.

The feeling of his fellow Warden leaning against him, huddled under her bearskin and wool blankets with him, however, was a new one.

His eyes and jaw stretched open in shock. _This...this isn’t really happening, is it?_   He gave his wrist a quick pinch. Nothing. His blush spread to his neck and ears, and suddenly he did not feel like he needed the blanket so much anymore.

The only thing in his mind was the feeling of her touch. How perfect she was so close to him, how warm and wonderful she felt, how much he desperately wanted to pull her even closer, how he could not understand what he did to deserve to feel like he could touch the sun.

Alistair turned his head to hide his uncontrollable grin that only grew wider with every attempt to bite it back. He had no idea he had been dreaming of this for so long, and here it was just...happening. He let out an involuntary grunt of approval and winced with shame. She definitely heard that. She was going to walk back to her tent, they wouldn’t speak the same way anymore, and he'd spend the rest of his life alone. His life was over, all because he could not help but love her and this so much. And if she had not heard that, surely she heard how fast his heart was pumping in his chest. _Get a hold of yourself, you moron._

“I didn’t want to just leave you out in the cold by yourself,” she said. Alistair could not look at her, but he heard the smile in her voice. “I mean, unless you want to be--”

 _“No!”_ Alistair cut in with a shout that threatened to wake the entire camp. Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice and said, “No, I actually...This is nice.” He laughed and scratched the back of his neck where skin met fur. “Huddled up with my best friend sure beats being cold and alone any day.”

She chuckled warmly and a comfortable silence filled the air around them. As the two listened to the crackling of the fire, Alistair felt her suddenly, confidently, fully rest her head on his shoulder. His lungs seized completely as he suppressed a strangled noise that threatened to burst from him.

No matter how many times he tried to pull it away, his gaze flickered at her, eager to drink in everything about her--everything about _this experience_. An experience he never thought he would have with...well, anyone, but especially _her_. He could not stop it before it was already happening--Alistair gently pressed his cheek against the part in her hair. She smelled of something uniquely her; the leather of their armor, the warmth of her skin, and the flowers of the oils she would put in her hair while bathing. How odd, he thought, for him to love even her scent.

For a long moment, he felt he would surely burst into flames from the heat of blush and blanket, or be struck by lightning, or slapped clear across camp, but he did not move. He could not. He would gladly take everyone’s watch tonight if it meant he could stay like this with her.

“Yeah,” she whispered almost reverently. “This is nice.”

He felt her press herself even further into his side, sending a jolt of pleasure from his chest out to the rest of his body. His eyelids fluttered shut and he hummed in content as warmth washed over him in waves. Hard to believe anything could be so perfect with the Blight looming over the world, yet here he was. Here _she_ was.

If these feelings were foolish, Alistair did not want to be wise.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked! Either way, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.


End file.
